Why Aren't You Mine (I Need You Now)
by Screaming Faeries
Summary: Regulus was a good boy from the north. Barty was south side scum. Written for Sophy (The Crownless Queen), inspired by Riverdale


**Why Aren't You Mine (I Need You Now)**

* * *

 _Written for Sophy (The Crownless Queen)_

 _Inspired by Riverdale_

* * *

"Your mother told me that you got a B on your latest formal exam," Regulus's father said sternly as the family were eating dinner. "What happened there?"

Regulus looked up from his plate. "It..it was…" he didn't know how to explain himself. He glanced at his mother as he opened and closed his mouth like a goldfish, trying and failing to come up with words.

"I was forced to tell your father, Regulus," Walburga continued smoothly. "Your brother made an embarrassment of us when he failed to graduate from high school. You know how important it is that you work extra hard to get good grades."

Regulus looked across the table at the empty seat where Sirius used to sit. It was this kind of pressure that had forced him to leave.

"B is still a good grade, Mother," Regulus said quietly. "In fact, that exam was so difficult that my score was still one of the highest in the class—"

Orion slammed his hand down on the table, causing the plates to shake. "But it wasn't the _highest,_ " he hissed, glaring at Regulus. "I demand better, boy. Now," he paused, leaning back in his chair and pulling a cigar out of the inside of his jacket. "Be a good boy, and fix me a drink."

Regulus looked down at his knees for a moment, his lips pursed. "Yes, father," he replied dully, before obediently leaving the table and walking over to the drinks cabinet.

oOo

Like always, Regulus waited until he was sure his parents were sleeping soundly before leaving the house. He zipped up his jacket and wrapped a scarf around his neck, then slipped out of the house without making a noise.

There was never really anyone around during the night in the north side of town, especially not as far north as where Regulus lived. He was lucky enough to live in a proud area, where the bushes and shrubs were trimmed daily and the lawns were neat and clipped. The flowers in the yards looked almost artificial, and every garden had a perfect white picket fence.

But the whole town wasn't like that. The further south you got, the houses got a little smaller, the gardens a little rougher around the edges. Once you got to the train track that passed through the middle of the town, everything was different.

The south side was plagued with gangs and degenerates. The school there was nothing like the north side school; the kids were dangerous and the rest of the inhabitants were drunk, addicts or worse. There were no nice houses in the south side, just grotty tower block apartments and caravan parks.

Regulus and Sirius had always been forbidden from venturing past the train tracks. In fact, they were forbidden from venturing that far at all with the exception of school.

Walburga's warning hadn't reached Sirius's ears. He'd spent the vast majority of his free time wandering into the south side where his friends lived, and eventually he abandoned the pressure of the family home to share a trailer with one of those friends.

For the most part, Regulus had listened to his mother. But he'd always been intrigued by the south side, and that intrigue only grew when Sirius ran away to live there. In truth, the danger thrilled him.

Once he stepped over the train tracks and into the south side, he could hear laughter and shrieking and motorcycles roaring in the distance, he walked past a group of kids tagging the window of a convenience store with red spray paint, and a couple made out loudly against the door of a parked car. The south side was lewd. It was loud. He _loved_ it.

But his favourite thing about the south side was _him._

As Regulus wandered deeper into the south side, he came to the old, non-working fountain in the centre of a small market area. This was where the Vipers met most nights.

They didn't know Regulus though, and they probably wouldn't accept him. So he hid out of the way, in the narrow alley between two unused buildings, shrouded by darkness. He'd stand there for hours.

The motorbikes parked up around the fountain haphazardly and lolled lazily on the seats, or jumped off and perched on the low wall of the fountain. The gang members didn't wear helmets or proper safety gear, though most of them were head to toe in biker leathers. Their jackets seemed to be a staple of the gang: heavily adorned with patches, button badges and chains. The girls wore fishnet tights and had dyed hair, and the boys wore combat boots and their hands and necks were covered with untidy tattoos, like they'd been drawn on by hand.

Someone handed out beers from a crate and switched on a boom box, which started playing rock music and elicited a cheer from the rest of the gang. Regulus looked at him; the one who he always came to see.

His name was Barty. Regulus didn't know if he was in charge, or the leader of the group, or however their hierarchy worked, but he seemed to be the most important one there—to Regulus, at least. He sat sideways on the biggest motorbike, running a hand through his tawny hair with a cigarette lolling out of his mouth. He was enigmatic. Regulus was obsessed.

He could watch the gang for hours. They didn't do anything all too exciting—mostly sat around the fountain, drinking cheap beer and laughing and jeering. On this particular night, they dumped dried wood and paper into the empty basin of the fountain and tipped vodka over it, before throwing a lit flip-lighter into the rubbish. The flames roared up almost instantly, but Barty didn't flinch away from the fire. From where Regulus was sitting, his eyes looked almost golden as he stared at the flames.

He was so caught up in gazing at those eyes that he didn't feel his phone vibrate in his pocket. It took him just a second to hear the shrill beeping, coming directly from inside his jacket. Someone slammed their palm on the boom box to shut off the sound and every gang member looked over to the alleyway that Regulus was hiding in.

" _Shit,"_ he cursed under his breath, hastily trying to grab his phone out of his pocket. He managed to hit the power button, shutting the sound off.

But it was too late. The gang were silent now, no longer laughing and joking and drinking. They were on edge—their shoulders squared and eyes narrowed. Someone even pulled a penknife out of their sleeve.

"I bet it's one of the Wolves," someone hissed.

"Those assholes have been trying to sneak in on our meetings for weeks," another person whispered."

"Show yourself!" Barty yelled. He launched his beer can into the alley, and it landed near Regulus, pooling liquid around his shoes. He swallowed nervously, and stepped out into the glow of the fire, holding his hands up.

"I'm not...I'm...I…" he stammered for words. Now that Barty was looking directly at him, boring those glowing amber eyes into his, he couldn't make eye contact.

"Who the heck are you?" someone else piped up, and they lunged forward. It was a burly guy with long, dirty dark red hair. Barty put an arm across his chest, stopping him from moving forward.

"Step down, Rabastan," he snapped. "Who are you?" he looked back at Regulus. "You're certainly not a Wolf."

"He's northside," Rabastan growled. "He looks familiar. I'd recognise that look anywhere. Look at his jacket. Look at his _shoes_ , for God's sake."

The corners of Barty's lips turned upwards, and his eyes sparkled with curiosity. "Is that true?"

Regulus nodded. "I'm sorry," he started. "I know I shouldn't be here. I'm not here to cause you harm…"

A series of sniggers erupted through the gang, as if the thought of someone like _Regulus_ causing them harm was hilarious.

Rabastan snapped his fingers suddenly and pointed at Regulus. "I know why I recognise him," he exclaimed. "You're like that other kid who came down here. He's with the Wolves now."

"My brother," Regulus croaked.

"Did you come here to join him?" Barty asked quietly. "Because if you're looking for the Wolves, you've stumbled into the wrong nest."

Regulus shook his head firmly. "No. I know which gang you are. I'm not interested in any others."

"But you're interested in ours?"

Slowly, Regulus nodded. What was he getting himself into?

oOo

Inside someone's trailer, Barty shoved Regulus down into a seat and stared at his reflection through the mirror. "You want to be a Viper? I'll make you a Viper."

Regulus was nervous. The smirk Barty was wearing didn't fill him with confidence.

"Why are you bothering?" Rabastan glowered from the small living area. He was leaning against the doorway, glaring. "He's _northside._ "

"He's my fun little project," Barty replied. "And anyway, there's nothing better to do around here lately." He had a lit cigarette between his teeth as he raked his hands through Regulus's usually smoothed-down hair.

Regulus tried not to concentrate on how _good_ it felt.

"You've got great hair," Barty said, puffing a stream of smoke out of the other side of his mouth. "But you have to stop wearing it like such a prep." He mussed it up with his hands until Regulus looked as though he'd just gone through shock treatment. Then, he spun the chair around that Regulus was sitting in so that he was face-to-face with Barty, took a blunt eyeliner pen, and smudged a generous amount of black pencil into the waterline of his eyes. "Now you need to get out of those awful clothes. You look like you go to private school."

Barty walked back towards the living area of the trailer and shoved Rabastan out of the way so he could get into a cupboard. It was a small wardrobe, with dark clothes shoved in haphazardly, not hung up neatly like Regulus's own clothes were back home. He grabbed a t-shirt and a pair of jeans, and threw them at Regulus.

"Get changed."

"Where?" Regulus asked, looking around. There weren't any other rooms in the trailer apart from the bathroom, and there wasn't even a door on there.

Barty raised an eyebrow and smirked. "Have you got something to hide?"

Regulus felt his cheeks burning, and chastised himself inwardly. Trying not to make eye contact with Barty, he slowly undressed and pulled on the clothes that he had been given, before turning to look at his reflection in the mirror.

He was not at all prepared for what looked back at him. The scruffy-haired, dark-eyed youth staring back at Regulus was wearing ripped black jeans and a t-shirt with a band that he'd never heard of. He looked like Sirius.

"I bet your mother wishes she could see you now," grinned Barty.

"She would _kill_ me," Regulus said softly.

"Here," Barty took off his leather jacket and passed it to Regulus. "Put that on. We're going for a ride."

Regulus took the jacket from Barty tentatively, and caught Rabastan staring. "You're going to let him on your bike?" he exclaimed, his mouth dropping open. "You never let _anyone_ ride that thing."

"I never let any of you hooligans on it," Barty snapped. "But I like Regulus." He grinned, and took Regulus by the wrist, pulling him outside.

The rest of the Vipers backed out of the way, looking just as shocked as Rabastan, as Barty led Regulus to his motorbike. He climbed on first, shifting to the front end, and patted the seat behind him.

Regulus awkwardly clambered onto the back of the motorbike. "I've never been on one of these things before," he admitted, out of earshot of any of the other Vipers.

"You'll be fine." Barty reached around and took Regulus's hands, placing them on his waist. "Hold on tight." Regulus clasped his hands together and held his breath as Barty kicked the motorbike into life.

oOo

The motorbike went so fast that the world around them blurred.

Regulus forced himself to keep his watering eyes open as the cold night air whipped his face and tangled his hair. He could hear other bikes screaming around him as the rest of the Vipers tried to keep up with Barty's motorbike, but none of them came close. Regulus held tight to Barty's waist, his cheek pressed to his back.

The bike screeched to a halt back at the fountain after they had done a lap around the south side, and Regulus staggered off, his face aching from smiling. No one else had returned to the fountain yet, and Regulus could hear their bikes groaning and roaring in the distance.

"That was _amazing,_ " he gasped, rubbing his forehead. Barty leaned back on the bike and grinned at Regulus.

Regulus could see himself reflected in Barty's amber eyes, and he wondered if that was how Barty was seeing him at that moment; cheeks flushed, eyes bright, hair wild from the wind.

"You look amazing like this, you know," Barty said softly. "Once you put those clothes on, I felt like I'd known you my entire life."

Regulus looked at his feet, feeling heat in his face. An image of his mother and father flashed before him suddenly, wearing scowls of disappointment after finding out what he'd been doing all night. "I hate the north side," he said suddenly. "That's why I always come down here. That's why I've been hanging around the Vipers."

"Townies usually end up doing that," Barty replied. He reached out and pressed his thumb to Regulus's cheek, wiping away a smudge of eyeliner. "But you're different from the others, aren't you?"

"Can I see you again?" Regulus asked. Barty was settling back onto the front of his motorbike, positioning his foot on the gas pedal.

"Tell you what," he said. "You'll have to return those clothes to me, right?" he nodded at Regulus's attire. "So I'd say you _have_ to see me again."

Regulus smiled. "I'll see you soon."

Barty grinned back and slammed his foot down on the pedal, filling the air with the smell of gasoline. "Soon," he called over the sound of the engine, and backed away from the fountain, speeding off into the southside.

 _End_

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 **Written For:**

Assignment #9/Arts & Crafts Task #2: Write about someone getting a makeover.

Marauder Map Madness Prompt #149: (dialogue) Be a good girl/boy and fix me a drink.

Seasonal/Days of the Year: November 1st/Men Make Dinner Day - Write about a male character.

Seasonal/Autumn Prompts: (word) Bright

Writing Club/Characters: (trait) Bad Boy

Writing Club/Amber's Attic: Dirty Dancing - Write about falling in love with someone you shouldn't.

Writing Club/Emy's Emporium: (colour) Gold

 **Word Count:** 2,391


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